A Will Unknown
by Cestenial
Summary: Ariquar Siligae, an Altmer recently devoted to the Thalmor cause, happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when Helgen is attacked. One thing leads to another, and Skyrim has in its grasp a Thalmor with the blood of the dragons.


Ariquar liked to think of himself as a good mer. He did what was needed, he praised Mara as his saviour, planned to join in with the Thalmor, and vowed to marry a beautiful womer when he settled down. It was the perfect plan for an Altmer of his age. Young, but not inexperienced. An adult. He'd practised magic for many years, had a blade he'd found on an adventure out in the wilds (it had been with a note that told any Thalmor to keep their hands off it, how could he resist?) and some nice, pristine Thalmor robes he'd purchased... Ok, so he'd found the clothes abandoned outside an inn... Most likely because their previous owner had been killed. It _had_ taken quite a bit of scrubbing in the river to get the blood out.

However... It seemed that no matter where he went, Ariquar Siligae got dirty looks from local Nords. Then again, who could blame them? Here he was, a high elf dressed in the clothes of a Thalmor wizard, head-to-toe. It wasn't hard to believe that he got pushed around and denied service in certain inns. It was many a night that he went without a proper bed, falling asleep in the outskirts of a village or town, heading inward to only get the things he needed before leaving once again. At one point near Riften, he had been ambushed while inside the city by a group of angry Nords, saying that he was scum and he should leave their city at once.

Ariquar was just past the White Pass near Helgen when he'd been apprehended by Imperial soldiers, found – quite wrongly – guilty of killing one of their men with an elven dagger. He'd never had an elven dagger on him, he only ever had his nice, sharp sword that was most likely of Nord make, and he tried to explain, but he was bound and thrown in a cart with other prisoners. Thankfully, he wasn't gagged like one of the others in the cart. He knew just who the man with the gag was, however, and he narrowed his eyes at him.

"Stormcloaks," He hissed, shaking his head. The cart jolted as it hit a bump in the road, and one of the soldiers glared at him from under his frame of blonde hair.

"Damn Thalmor. We wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for you," The man spat at Ariquar's feet, and he flinched slightly backward, not wanting to get his boots soiled. He was about to retort harshly when the cart jolted once again, causing him to bump against the edge of the cart's wall and get the breath knocked out of him.

"We're here." The announcement was loud, clear, and... Promising. But promising of what? Ariquar glanced around, seeing a headsman, a priestess...

Oh.

It was promising _death_.

"End of the line," The Stormcloak sneered, hopping off the cart before Ariquar. The elf shook his head and watched as the soldiers lined up, ready to meet their deaths, eyes turned upward in prayer to their precious Talos. The blonde who had spat at him turned toward Ariquar, mouth turned up in a grin as he chuckled darkly.

"Hey," The Stormcloak called out grin widening, "Make the elf go first. He's a Thalmor, and I think we'd all like to see his head off first, right?"

There were several nods, and Ariquar felt his stomach flip as a guard hit him in the back, insides twisting in fear. He'd failed, he'd never made it to where he wanted to go, he was done, never to succeed, never to get married, never to live with a wonderful womer and have elven children and tell them the tales of the Aldmeri dominion... there was a shriek somewhere in the distance, but he couldn't hear it over the pounding in his ears. He muttered a curse toward Talos, a prayer to Mara, and knelt on the stone block before him, laying his neck out...

And then the world shook and he headsman fell, and Ariquar saw red. Not from anger, but literal red, and scorching heat, and before he could think he was up and running and fleeing because that was a dragon and dragons weren't supposed to exist, and there was a burning in his mind because it just wasn't right.

He ran, ran toward whatever shelter he could find, lungs burning because of the smoke all around.. Stormcloak camps, bandit ambushes, he could handle. A dragon attack? This was new. This was strange. Unlike anything he'd ever faced, and Ariquar wasn't sure he was going to get through it. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't concentrate, not when his heart was pounding so fast, so loud. There was so much smoke, so much heat, and then he heard someone yelling for him, but he couldn't bring himself to care because this might as well be the end for him...

Then, silence.

Everything.

Silent.

The dragon had retreated after several minutes, seemingly pleased with its destruction, and Ariquar stood and laughed, laughed because he was alive and he hadn't had to fight, and he could breathe and nothing was the matter any more because he survived a dragon attack by cowering and whimpering. He'd never done that before. He'd always faced his problems with a glare and a hand full of magic, shooting a flame in someone's face to solve things permanently.

This day was different. This day, Ariquar would never forget. He'd tell his children and his children's children of the day he ran from a dragon, the day that Helgen burned, and with it, he assumed, Ulfric Stormcloak. He hoped. He prayed to Mara that Ulfric hadn't made it out alive. Wouldn't that be the tale? The man who wanted to be High King, the one that shouted a man to pieces, looked upon as fearless by his followers... Killed in a burning building because a dragon attacked.

It was a funny thought for Ariquar as he made his way through the rubble, burned the binding off his hands, and walked toward the entrance of the town, beginning to head north to Riverwood.


End file.
